The Cocksucker's Compendium 2: Secondhand Blues
by grabthefish
Summary: This is the tale of the second time Shawn sucked Carlton's cock. On New Years Eve, Shawn finds Carlton a drunken disaster on Juliet's doorstep and takes him back home to piece the man back together again. After Lassie sobers up, emotional sexytimes ensue. *Chpt 3 coming soon!
1. Chapter 1

The second time Shawn sucked Carlton's cock was on New Year's Eve.

He hadn't seen the cop since the Christmas party a week and a half prior and the distance made him feel small. If it weren't for the fact that Lassie didn't particularly like what little family he had in SoCal, Shawn would have just brushed it off as typical end of year holiday plans, but the cop had made it known that his sister wasn't likely to be back this Christmas and that ever since Jules had accidentally let the news of his separation slip, he'd barely been getting along with his mother, so what else was Shawn supposed to do but assume he was being avoided?

He'd considered calling Carlton, maybe sending him a text, but every time he picked up the phone, a little voice inside his brain piped up to ask him what the fuck he was supposed to say –

 _Hey, Lassie. Do you miss me yet?_

Obviously not, if he hadn't made contact.

 _How 'bout another blowjob? I know a nifty never-used broom closet down at the station…_

Pathetic. Why debase himself a second time for a man who clearly didn't care?

 _Happy holidays, Jerkface. I hope they're as good as that orgasm I gave you._

Petty. That's all that one was. Just petty.

Shawn didn't send any of them, though, too forlorn to bother.

He thought that he and Lassie had shared something more than just bodily fluids that night in the closet, and the fact that they'd left it with an open-ended feeling of hope had Shawn feeling confused and a little sad, nothing having come from the event but Lassiter.

He wished he knew what was going on inside the man's head. Wished he was around so he could pick his brain or pester him enough to be able to read a reaction. But Jules had said that Lassie had called in sick the day after, then gone off to his mother's to celebrate the holidays, informing Shawn that he wasn't due back until New Year's Eve but that she planned on him attending her year-end soiree whether he liked it or not.

Shawn too, had promised Jules he would make an appearance at her shindig, but his heart wasn't really in it - the first time in long time he had no desire to celebrate. Not only wanting to be there to support her but also in need of the free booze to numb his pain, he wouldn't cancel no matter how bad he felt. But because he knew there would be no avoiding the detective whose dick had recently tickled his tonsils, getting something fruity and liquor-filled down his gullet was his number-one party priority. Lassie was going to be there, likely to give Shawn an answer he didn't want to hear, nor was he ready for.

The booze would help to numb the inevitable pain. Shawn was sure of it.

He thought It a damn shame things had turned out the way they had, and he shrugged his plaid over-shirt atop his shoulders with a sigh, trying to shake off his growing melancholy. The top out the color in his eyes and the shirt was one of Shawn's favorites because of it, the psychic always seemed to score when he had it on. It brought him a comfort he needed, even if it wasn't going to get him laid, and he was glad it, though part of him questioned why he was bothering to begin with. It wasn't like there would be anybody there to impress, after all. He'd already failed to make a mark on the detective he'd been crushing on forever, so why should he put effort for a person who didn't care and a party he didn't want to go? Shawn was just setting himself up to look good while his heart got broken, which seemed to be the smallest condolence of all.

His mood fouling instantly, the thought brought him crashing down, and Shawn began to regret his refusal to cancel, wishing he could somehow manage to avoid it all.

But because a promise was a promise and any answer better than no answer, he screwed on a smile, gathered his courage, spritzed himself with cologne, and walked out the door to where the Blueberry idled, Gus waiting patiently to pick him up.

 _Party time._

* * *

Shawn had been there about an hour when the _ding-dong_ of the doorbell announced another arrival - a common occurrence all evening long. But this one was different, the sound seemingly never-ending. Jules was busy, so because Shawn was nearest to the door, he figured he could help by playing host a while. He was beyond bored of listening to Buzz and Gus beak about comic books, never having experienced the joy of them himself thanks to Henry, and he was growing desperate for something to do, needing to get his mind off things like where Lassie was, the man having yet to make an appearance.

Answering the door would have to be the thing that did it.

He motioned to Gus that he was off to welcome the next guest and paused in the hall long enough to straighten himself, wanting to make the best possible impression on Juliet's behalf. She was one of his best friends and this was her first big party, so he wanted to do what he could to help, knowing his melancholic mood wasn't doing it. He looked in the long thin mirror near the door and, after quickly adjusting the collar of his shirt, deemed himself presentable, though the spray in his amazing hair was really the only thing keeping him together. A fake smile plastered on his face, Shawn opened the door of the cozy bungalow, slightly tipsy and in the mood for someone fun.

Instead, he found Lassiter leaning against the rail, his finger still ringing the bell, a bottle of something in a paper bag hanging from his hand, and a cab at the curb pulling away.

Startled by the sight of it, the psychic stepped back, having never expected the man to show up in this condition. Half-expecting the man not to show up at all, despite Juliet's insistence he would.

With hair mussed, eyes red, and shirt un-tucked, Lassie stood there looking more disheveled than Shawn had ever seen him. It was chilling.

"Happy h'lidays. G'nna lemme in? Or will you jus' tell her you saw me, so I can go h'me?" he snapped, slurring his words as he stared at his shoes. He sounded both begrudged and a little hopeful that whoever answered would acquiesce., and after a moment, his hand slipped off the ringer.

Shawn blinked, too concerned by the detective's appearance to really hear his words and needing a second to register the statement.

"I'm sorry, tell who what now?" he asked as Lassie tottered unsteadily on the front step, his voice laced with worry as he reached out to stabilize the wavering cop.

Lassie stumbled, his shoes slipping on the rain dampened pavement, but he caught himself before falling. Jerking his arm back to avoid the touch, his empty hand gripped the railing tight. "Julesiet. Hooliet. O'Hara," he stuttered, her name finally coming to him. "Tell her I'm here, I'm queer, and I wan' n' part of it."

He stopped a moment, finally realizing not only what he had just said but who he was talking to, his entire body still as he locked eyes with Shawn.

"Lassie…" Shawn started, concern etched across his face as he registered the mess of a man in front of him, trying not to let the words hurt.

Unlaced shoe? Check.

Partially unbuttoned shirt? Check.

A lack of holster and gun?

Well, _fuck_.

It was a well-known fact that Santa Barbara's Head Detective never went anywhere unarmed – Shawn had even seen him grocery shopping fully strapped, once upon a time – and that meant that his not packing now proved things were worse than Shawn could possibly imagine. Mind you, Lassie with a weapon while wasted was probably the worst an idea could get, so while it seemed wrong, Shawn was glad he had left his pistol at home, not needing more trouble than he had on his hands already.

"Are you –" he started, then stopped, the answer obvious. "No, I don't even need to ask. You're _clearly_ not okay. What's going on, buddy? Come on in."

He motioned to the house behind him, indicating the stairwell was a good place to converse, hoping he would be taken up on the offer.

" _Please._ Sit and we can talk. I'll get Jules to bring us some water."

Taking a swig of whatever was in his bottle, Lassiter glared like he wanted to throw it at him and swatted at Shawn with his other hand. Instead of entering, he chose to lean against the wall again, ignoring the offer of a welcome ear and warm house and resting his head against the stucco.

"I don' wanna c'me in," he said, flapping his hand indignantly, like the action could will Shawn away. "I don' wanna c'me at all. I shouldn' have. C'ming was stupid."

As he stepped out onto the veranda, Shawn glanced behind him to see the party in full swing and closed the door behind him to give them some privacy. He wasn't sure whether Lassiter meant his presence or that _other_ thing lingering between them but knew the conversation didn't need to be public regardless of which it was.

"It was stupid and you're stupid," the cop said, swaying in place, swathed in misery. "And _I'm_ stupid. Really stupid."

Radiating sorrow, he paused, staring at Shawn's knees as he continued. "Jus' fucking dumb."

Carlton went to take another drink from the bottle, but Shawn caught it by its base impulsively, holding it away from Lassie's lips as he responded, worried about the man in front of him.

"It wasn't stupid, Lass," he protested softly. "And neither are you. You're the smartest guy I know. Even smarter than Gus."

Lassiter looked at him, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Shawn's, and Shawn shivered, not sure if it was from the wind cutting through him or the feeling of being pinned beneath the detective's piercing blue glare.

"Don' do that," Lassiter replied, meaning the commiseration or the hold on his liquor or maybe both. Shawn wasn't sure of that, either. But as Lassie said it again - quieter this time but also more petulant - he jerked the bottle away, forcing Shawn to watch in slow motion as it slipped from his grasp and smashed against the railing, the bottom breaking open and soaking both the bag and the cop's leg.

"Fer fucks sake, Spencer why'd you hafta d' that?"

Shawn worked to keep his voice steady, knowing something was seriously awry and that anything he did might worsen the matter. He wanted to make things better but had no clue how, the detective too wasted to get much of a read from – even more out of it than the night he'd found him in Tom Blair's Pub, drinking away his grief at the end of his relationship with his ex. Sadly, Shawn knew that fixing this was going to be far more difficult than solving a case on the detective's behalf. Because somehow, even with nothing but his intoxication to base his theory off of, Shawn was certain this went much deeper than that.

"Do what, Lassie? The bottle was an accident –"

"Made me _fucking_ fall fer you," the cop interrupted. The answer was one Shawn was completely unprepared for and it left him slack-jawed.

Lassiter continued, the shattered glass falling from his fingertips into Juliet's flowerbed as his body slouched in defeat. "You ruined everything, Sp'ncer. I fucking _hate_ you."

Shawn didn't know what to say – didn't know what was happening or what had put Lassiter in this state – but he wanted to wrap his arms around the man and make it all go away, if only he could. If only Lassie wouldn't violently react to his doing so. Shawn opened his mouth to speak, unsure of how to fix things but knowing he needed to say something.

The words fell out without a thought, his hand reaching to grasp the cop's shoulder and gently squeeze.

"You don't mean that, Lassie. You don't hate me."

Looking over at the touch, Lassiter stood a little straighter, his gaze glued on the hand on his arm as it comforted him.

"No, I don't," he agreed with a whisper, his eyes clouding over with tears as he spoke.

He paused, and the silence stretched on for what felt like forever.

"That's the problem."

Head in his hands, he moaned. The sound cut through the night and on the dimly lit porch Shawn snapped into action, gathering his wits as he questioned the statement, everything hanging on Carlton's response.

"Why's that a problem, Lass?" Shawn asked.

He reached out with a tentative touch and, wondering If he was going to get hit or bit or told the hell off, slowly rubbed circles into the cop's shoulder when he didn't, the muscles beneath Lassie's shirt slackening. It was the first time he'd had his hands on the man since that night in the broom closet, and though they'd been publicly pawing at each other ever since they'd first met, this touch was different, loaded with so much more than words could say.

Shawn's digits throbbed at the feel of Lassie at his fingertips and he was forced to push naughty thoughts aside, knowing this moment of vulnerability was not the time for it. His libido couldn't matter when so much was at stake; Carlton never exposed such emotion if he could help it, and Shawn was not about to take advantage of the fact that he was.

"Help me out, buddy. I don't understand."

Lassie just looked at him like he was stupid, his head cocked slightly to the side before he spoke -

"Is a problem," he said plainly, eyes locked on the psychic like he was trying to express how he felt without words. "Because I think I love you."

He finished, then stared. And, in the moment before Shawn could say something in return, that was when Carlton puked on Shawn's shoes.

* * *

Shawn took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore the warm squishy feeling in between his toes, his hand still rubbing the back of the man who had just upchucked all over his Nikes.

He was right before. Something was _definitely_ wrong with his favorite detective. Wronger than wrong. And, ignoring the unexpected Exorcist impression, maybe also a little right, Lassie's declaration of affection being a total game changer.Had it been anyone else who'd lost their cookies all over Shawn, there would have been hell to pay. But as it was Lassiter, who was not only uncharacteristically wasted but also proclaiming his love, Shawn figured he could overlook it just this once.

"It's okay, Lassie," he said as the man straightened, clearly embarrassed by the contents of his stomach making a surprise appearance. He tried to keep his voice full of humor, knowing the last thing the man needed was to be made more upset, hoping that the lightness of his tone would help diffuse the very confusing situation. "I didn't like those shoes anyway. Thanks for helping me realize it's time to throw them out. Couldn't have made the call without ya, pal."

He aimed a soft smile the cop's way, a grin set to de-escalate, but Lassie ignored him, sinking to his haunches and burying his head in his hands instead. "I shouldn't be h're," he mumbled, words Shawn barely caught as they slid between his fingers and disappeared into the night. "Shouldn' be here 't all."

Sidestepping the puddle (not that it mattered much with his feet soaked as they were) Shawn bent down, pulling Lassie's hands away and tilting his chin up, forcing the man to look at him - forcing a moment of connection to try to bring the cop back from the land of the liquored and into reality.

"No, Lassie. I don't think you should," he agreed. The last place Lassie needed to be in this state was inside where his colleagues could see him so completely and utterly wrecked. So, Shawn decided he wasn't going to allow that to happen, making it his duty to care for the crumpled detective in front of him. Jules might be pissed at him for leaving so early, but he knew he would have her forgiveness once she realized what happened.

She wouldn't want to expose her partner like this either.

"I'm glad you did, though, so I could see you, at least." He continued, his voice low and murmuring. "Will you let me help? Let me take you home and put you to bed?"

Carlton blanched at that, his head whipping up so fast he nearly cracked Shawn in the skull, his mouth opening to protest.

"Lassie, you're in no state to be in public right now, let alone partying," the psychic said, resting his hand on the cop's arm as he clarified. " Do really wanna be discussing why you're so fucked up with Dobson or McNab, right now? Think it'll go over well if the Chief sees you like this? C'mon, let me pour you into a cab and tuck you into bed, k? You've got a couch I can crash on, right?"

Lassiter nodded, closing his mouth as the meaning of Shawn's words registered, color slowly returning to his complexion.

"Also, a futon in the basement," he said. The words were weary, and he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he spoke, hand coming to rest of the nape of his neck. His voice was gruff from the unexpected upchuck, but still, the tone was softer than it had been before. "And a floor on the… um -"

He paused, trying to remember the word.

" - floor. You can figure it out."

Shawn laughed, amused at the detective's discombobulation, glad he had agreed to let Shawn take him home.

"I'm sure I can, Lassie."

He hadn't expected this to be a turn his night would take. But he was sure as hell going to take it, awkward though it may be. It did give him his answer, after all.

Lassie loved him.

He laughed.

"Now hold tight while I call us a cab."

* * *

Lassiter's head lay on Shawn's shoulder, his breath ghosting across the skin of the psychic's neck as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Shawn knew that the cop needed all the shut-eye he could get, so he tried his best not to disturb him as he cupped the screen of his cell with his hand, dimming the light of his phone as he began to text. He'd managed to get Lassie in the cab with minimal effort - surprising because the man moved like a marionette made of lead – and having buckled them both in and given the driver Lassie's address, Shawn made quick work of messaging Gus to let he and Juliet know what was going on.

Well… not _everything_ that was going on. Neither of them needed to know the extent of Lassiter's admission on the front step, after all, the slurred words bouncing around his skull like a kangaroo hopped up on methamphetamine.

 _It's a problem_ , Lassie said, _because I think I love you._

Shawn's breath had caught in his throat when he'd heard it, those five little words hitting him with the impact of a cast-iron frying pan to the face.

 _I think I love you,_ Lassie said.

It was almost unconscionable, a phrase Shawn never thought he'd hear from anyone, let alone the object of his long-ignored affection.

 _I love you,_ Lassie said.

Shawn was gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Completely and utterly fucking floored.

Also, a little soggy.

Knowing no cabbie would let him in their car with spew-soaked sneakers, he had thrown his shoes in the trashcan at the end of Juliet's block, sitting Lassie on the curb to await his barefooted return. He'd made it back just in time to see the car pull in and was shocked it had gotten there as fast as it had, considering he had called during peak hours on a holiday. He wondered whether the urgency in his voice had helped to speed it along, or whether it was because he'd had the wherewithal to name-drop the drunken detective, letting the company know it would look good to win over such a high ranking member of Santa Barbara society. Either way, it wasn't an especially important thought; it was just something he was using to distract himself, trying not to overthink the only crucial item of information he'd been given all evening - the proclamation of love from the man on his shoulder and the fact that he hadn't been ignoring Shawn after all.

Too wrapped up in his angsty assumptions during Lassie's week away, Shawn hadn't considered the possibility that Lassiter had been taking the time to work through things, the cop coming to the very same conclusion he'd wound up word-vomiting onto the psychic's heart before he'd _vomit_ -vomited onto his shoes.

 _It's a problem because I think I love you._

He'd spent years trying to weasel his way into Lassie's personal life any way he could – pawing at the cop whenever the opportunity arose, showing off skin to tantalize as he wailed and flailed, even blatantly stating his affections on more than one occasion – but nothing had ever come of his tactics. Lassie had always ignored him at best, at worst putting up with the antics and manhandling him away with a scowl. But just like Shawn's unnecessary lewdness was _his_ way of flirting, maybe those reactions were Lassie's way of showing returned interest, the cop only ever telling him to get off when the homoerotic subtext came too close to being _just_ text - never pushing Shawn away until well after their fully-clothed sex (at least, that's what Shawn had been calling it in his head, the intent expressly obvious, in his personal opinion).

After all, Shawn _had_ spent more than a full minute in Lassie's lap, once upon a time. And because of that and the fact that both men sucked at expressing their emotions, he thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , it was possible that Carlton had actually been _enjoying_ his attention.

Lassie never mauled anyone else like he did Shawn, after all. And he certainly never hesitated to drag him into a dark hallway where they could be all alone, hissing not-quite sweet nothings in the psychic's ear.

And those times when he smiled at Shawn, though they were quite rare, it lit up every crevice of the entire fucking room.

So, if he didn't know better - and really, he wasn't sure he did - he'd think that Lassie had been leading him on, his roughing up just foreplay, his way of flirting with Shawn.

Which meant that maybe Lassie _had_ been letting his body do the talking, too scared to let his words say how he felt. Except now, when they came out in full force, trashing both the psychic's sneakers and every pre-conceived notion in his pretty little head.

Shawn still couldn't believe Lassie had said it -

 _Because I think I love you._

 _I think I love you._

 _I love you._

\- and marveling, he wondered whether it was a new revelation or something that had been coming for a long time.

The revelation astounded him. It more than astounded him and, slowly shaking his head, Shawn looked at Lassiter with a new sense of wonder. Lassie just shifted in place, mumbling something under his breath as he tried to get comfortable, the phrase hitting the air twice more before Shawn the makeshift pillow caught on to what was being said, the words just as shocking as his original proclamation.

"Don' go," Lassie whispered, snuggling into the crook of Shawn's neck as he breathed deep, arms wrapping around the psychic's shoulders as he pulled himself close. "Don' leave."

Shawn's heart swelled at the sound, and he reached out a hand to brush away the hair from Lassie's temple, the man continuing to speak in his sleep.

"Don' wan' be 'lone nomore," Lassie said, and Shawn froze as the sound of despair reached his ears, his hand stilling in the other man's hair. He cupped him close and, fighting back tears, the words washed over him and carried him away. "Please don' go, Spencer."

Shawn swallowed, the lump in his throat nearly suffocating as Lassie continued.

"Spencer, please stay."


	2. Chapter 2

Getting Carlton out of the car was as easy as getting him into it.

Getting him into bed was not.

"C'mon, Lassifrass – just swing your leg up," Shawn said, half-pleading with the detective sprawled face first on the duvet, the man's lower half dangling off the edge of the bed. "Gotta help me out a bit here, buddy."

Forcing Shawn to strain his ears to hear, the cop flapped his wrist in protest as he spoke into his mattress. The move clearly a favorite of the man's, the psychic laughed in response.

"Jus' leave me. Is good," Lassie replied, his voice still slurring, though less than before.

"No, Lass. Is not good." Dropping the foot he held in defeat, Shawn sighed, exasperated and wondering how much time he'd wasted trying to maneuver Lassiter this way.

The tactic had failed spectacularly.

His inability to manhandle Lassie frustrated him and, irritated with both the situation and himself, Shawn took a deep breath and just… gave up.

He was good at giving up. For years it was his go-to plan of action – don't like the way things are going? Leave them. Can't cope with what life has handed you? Then don't. Find something better to do than what you're doing now? Then do it.

He'd been the king of quitting, as his father constantly reminded him. Since he was a child, as a matter of fact. But ever since he'd stumbled into what he was beginning to think was his life's purpose – ever since he'd started falling for the not-usually drunken detective – Shawn's desire to quit had dissipated, going from the back-up plan in his back pocket to the worst-case scenario he kept on a dusty shelf in the back of his packed closet.

But this was different.

Also, his back was sore.

It was insane how long it took Shawn to realize the inanity of trying to move Lassie this way, but once he did, he positioned himself next to the mostly-passed out pain-in-the-ass and sat instead. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, and he took a moment to stretch out his back and relax, absentmindedly trailing his hand along the curvature of the cop's back and relishing in the feel of the man under his fingers as he lost himself in thought.

Just a year ago, he'd have lost a limb for even _trying_ to touch Lassie this way. But now?

Well, things were different now, and it was unlikely he was going to get that violent reaction after all.

A shiver raced up Lassiter's spine and he moaned, snapping Shawn out of his reverie and clueing him in to the effect he was having on the man. Though he didn't want to stop what he was doing, he knew the gentle intimacy wasn't the most productive to getting Lassie tucked in. But he couldn't quite help himself, the action bringing about a much-needed sense of comfort for them both.

"Is good," Carlton said again, and this time Shawn wasn't sure if he meant his position on the bed or the touch of his hand, what little skin the detective had exposed turning to gooseflesh.

If Shawn was basing it off his body's reaction, though...

The thought that Lassie loved the feel of his touch warmed the darkest parts of the psychic's heart, sending a shock straight through him.

"Is nice."

His hand stilled in the center of Lassie's back. Not sure if he should continue or how distracted he'd be if he did, the thought of spending the rest of the evening like this – sitting quietly and stroking the cop's back as he murmured drunken pleasantries – was too tempting to pass up. So, Shawn allowed himself a moment more before he forced himself to come up with a plan, basking in the warmth of the other man's body and reveling in the domesticity of the moment as he did.

Surprisingly, it was allowing his brain to be put on auto-pilot – simply enjoying the friction of his fingertips as they danced across Lassie's dark blue dress-shirt – that helped him come up with an idea. And it was a good idea, he thought, one he wasn't sure why he hadn't tried to begin with.

"Lass?" Shawn said, receiving a muffled "What?" in response.

He smiled, mildly amused by the detective in this state.

"I'm gonna roll you over. Don't hurl on me again, k?"

Another muffled answer, this time shorter as Lassiter agreed.

"K."

Shawn sighed. Pulling his legs onto the bed, he centered his gravity to gain leverage, turning himself into a human fulcrum. His hands slid under the man's stomach, fingers splayed against the taut skin of Lassiter's stomach, the cop's shirt having bunched beneath him. Jolts of attraction raced up his arms and into his brain, and he let his mind wander for the briefest of moments before he moved one hand higher and one hand lower, touching clothed hip and collarbone respectively.

"Okay, Lassie. You ready?" he asked, hoping to avoid startling the man into another accidental bout of upchuckery. Once was more than enough for the night, and Shawn didn't want to have to figure out where Lassie kept his extra sheets, let alone try changing them with the man sprawled atop the bed as he was.

"Ready," Lassiter mumbled as he shifted, sending Shawn's thoughts flying when he unwittingly re-positioned his dick into the palm of the psychic's hand.

Shawn's fingers flexed around the flesh instinctively and Carlton broke out in a moan.

"Ohhhhhh."

It was obvious Lassie was smiling into his mattress, the sound coming from the man's mouth equally muffled and erotic.

"Tha's nice, too," he said, and rocked his hips, enjoying the not-quite accidental stimulation. Suppressing a grin, Shawn felt little Lassie grow to half-mast and wished life-sized-Lassie wasn't wasted beyond the point of consent. Because no matter how tempting it may be to take advantage of the situation he'd literally just been handed, that's exactly what it would be right then – taking advantage.

"'s really nice," Lassie continued, cajoling. "Really, really nice. Wan' more. Gimme more?"

Shawn shook his head, biting his lip and blinking back his lust, determined to behave himself no matter how much Lassie tried to convince him otherwise. He knew could be a bastard from time to time, but Shawn wasn't _that_ _kind of bastard_ , unwilling to cross a line he knew he shouldn't, no matter how blurry it was. So, much as it pained him, he murmured an apology and slipped his hand back to its original position, ignoring the whine of protest the man made when he moved away.

"Okay, Lassifrass, heeeeeeeeere we go!"

Flexing his hands, Shawn sent all the strength in his arms to his fingertips, the sop flipping onto his back with a surprising amount of ease as the psychic thanked a god he wasn't sure he believed in that it had worked on the first try. Lassie's head hit his pillow and he snuggled into it, clearly pleased with his new position even though he was still sideways.

His stress at the situation rising once he realized Lassie was likely to turn belligerent if Shawn took the headrest away to move him again, Shawn wished he had a pillow of his own to clutch at. He was uncertain of what his next move should be if that wasn't it, and he wished he could just flop down next to Lassie and let things be. He wasn't usually the caretaker in these moments, after all. Shawn was usually the care _taken_ , and he realized that if he was half as bad as Lassie was, he owed Gus a whole lot of apologies for dealing with his own drunk ass over the years. Probably more than just apologies, to be honest, his intoxicated self far more incorrigible than Lassie was proving to be.

"Lassie?" he asked, checking in with hopes the man was awake enough to tell him he was okay, though the restful look on the detective's face made him question it.

"Wha', Spencer? Wha' you want now? Is sleepy. Is flipped. Is good, see?" Carlton replied, his arms flopping to his sides as they spread across the bed, frowning when the left one hit his headboard. Shawn stifled a laugh at the sight, the response more adorable than he'd ever seen Lassiter before. He didn't even know Lassie _could_ be this cute, and he wondered if it was something the detective knew it about himself. If he didn't, Shawn was certainly going to inform him once he regained cognizance. And possibly every single day for the rest of his life.

"Yes, Lassie. I see," Shawn replied, his tone as warm as a honeyed hot toddy. "But I can't leave you sideways." He continued, hoping the man's love of logic would spur him into helping, not looking forward to moving the man if it didn't. "You'll fall off the bed. You're only half-on as it is."

"Sure can," Lassie sleep-argued, something Shawn wasn't entirely surprised by his ability to do.

The man was the biggest pain-in-the-ass he'd ever met – funny when you considered he thought the same about Shawn. Arguing was second nature to Lassiter, especially arguing with _him_ , and it made the psychic wonder if Lassie had been born a master debater or if verbal sparring was just a thing that got him off. Considering how often the man proved to be contradictory – sometimes, it seemed, just for contradiction's sake – Shawn seriously leaned towards the latter of the two options.

In fact, fighting with Shawn probably gave Lassie a soul-boner or something. But he wasn't about to give up now, regardless of which it might be.

"Okaaay," he said, taking the opportunity to poke at the man as he pulled Lassie's socks off. The detective too drunk and the situation too awkward, he wasn't going to pry Lassie out of his clothes, but he figured this small thing of comfort was something he _could_ achieve. "But when you wake up on the floor just remember that I told you so."

Lassie replied as he wiggled his newly freed toes, his liquor-brained logic surprising the psychic. "S'okay. You'll jus' pu' me back to bed."

Shawn laughed openly at that, the detective's brazen response tickling his funny bone.

"Oh, really? I am, am I? How's that gonna happen when I'm sleeping in the living-room, Lassiepants?" he asked, grabbing the man's left leg and shaking it for emphasis, ready to swing it up onto the bed and stopping only when he heard the answer.

Lassie breathed, the word coming out as a sigh, and Shawn did a double-take, not knowing if he heard him correctly.

"Stay," Lassie said again, a little more forceful this time, the request laced with longing as his slur turned into one of alcohol-induced exhaustion.

"Stay wi' me."

Shawn blinked at the response, unsure of how to respond.

"Wan' snuggles."

The psychic counted his blessings, his pulse racing at the idea. The couch in the other room was both lumpy and lonely, and he'd much rather be here with Lassie's warm body pressed up against his own. Shawn was sure Lassie would be a blanket hog, but that wouldn't matter when the man was likely to become a human comforter of his very own. Far more importantly -

Lassie didn't want to be alone anymore; he had said as much in the cab.

He didn't want to be alone anymore, and he wanted Shawn to be the one to be with him.

But in what way?

Was it just for the night, to take care of him until he was his hard-ass self again come morning? Or did he mean more – did he mean he really wanted to start something between them? Or rather, further the thing they had already been started?

His earlier declaration of affection made Shawn think the latter, but with Lassie loaded when he'd said, it left him uncertain – love being just as impossible to profess when wasted as consent was. Either way, as important as the answer was, Shawn knew he couldn't let it matter until morning. The man wouldn't be sober enough to tell him until then, so he let the thought leave his head and came up with a compromise, proud of himself for doing so as quickly as he had.

"How 'bout this, Lassie? You let me get you on the bed right -" he offered, thumb caressing the cop's bare ankle, smiling when he saw the other man smile, "- and I promise you I'll stay, k?"

Lassiter paused a moment, brow furrowed slightly, as if he was considering. The offer a good one, Shawn didn't know what he had to consider, and it made him wonder if Lassie was being petulant just because he could.

"An' snuggle?" the cop said after a moment, apparently unwilling to agree without his addendum to the matter accepted. "Hasta snuggle if stay. Wan' snuggles."

Shawn's smile grew wider, his heart melting at the demand.

He was _definitely_ reminding Lassiter of how adorable he was come morning.

"Yes, Lassie," he agreed, crawling back onto the bed. " _And_ snuggle."

* * *

Moving the cop after that had been easy – Lassie now resting with his head on Shawn's chest, his arm wrapped around the younger man's waist with the psychic pinned beneath him – and the lack of difficulty made Shawn wonder if the detective had been trying to get him in this position on purpose.

He wouldn't put it past Lassiter, the man a wily enough son of a bitch when sober that he could imagine him equally so when wasted. Shawn had the memories of their recent truth or dare as proof, after all, where Lassie had been smart enough to get himself blown in a broom closet. Though the cop hadn't exactly been sober that time either, he hadn't been drunk enough for Shawn to worry about whether he had really wanted it. Lassiter had made it _exceedingly_ clear – the phrase ' _I want my dick so far down your throat, you'll be tasting me for days'_ unable to be taken any other way.

There was a fine line between drunk (which he'd been then) and fucked-out of his skull (which he was now) though, and it made Shawn glad he'd been the one to find Lassie and take him home, not wanting some opportunistic asshole to have seen the vulnerable man as prey. As Head Detective, Lassiter was well-known in these parts and it gave Shawn chills to think of all the horrible possibilities he'd avoided by Shawn being the one to scoop Lassie up and whisk him away like the man's own personal knight in plaid-and-denim armor.

He focused on the feeling of their bodies pressed together to avoid those negative thoughts, want replacing worry as the line between them blurred; the detective practically crawling atop Shawn and burying his face in the flesh of his neck. Shawn wrapped his arm around Lassie's shoulder when his beloved snuggled close, heart full to bursting as it beat against his chest like a stampede of hooves thundering through the grasslands of the Serengeti, laughing at the image that popped in his head. If this was what it felt like, maybe he _was_ wrong about cats being stupid when they'd domesticated themselves. Because that's exactly how he felt right then – resplendently broken in and absolutely over the moon about it.

Unsure of what morning would bring, he chose to cherish the moment, breathing deep as the detective settled and allowing his mind to wander. It wasn't hard for Shawn to imagine what life would be like with Lassie wrapped around him every day – coming home from a hard case and crawling into his embrace to force the memories of corpses and murderers away – and he found that doing so left him far more content than he'd ever expected, his fantasies about the detective usually ones of the NC-17 variety.

This was the first time he'd imagined something less, yet somehow it was something so, _so_ much more. Never picturing himself in the role of _cop's wife_ while growing up – hell, if someone had suggested it even a week ago, he would have laughed in their face and told them to see a doctor for that brain-eating virus they clearly seemed to have – Shawn found that it was something he was surprisingly starting to crave… so long as the cop in question was the one currently glued to him, of course. Because though this wasn't the first time he'd taken care of Lassie (that was the astronomer case with the arrest of Hugo Rainer a little over a year prior), the feeling he got from doing so brought him to a place he'd never expected to be; one that couldn't be achieved by pineapple smoothies or scores of solved cases or even getting to rub his dad's nose in his success.

It was all Lassie. All Lassie and the possibility a relationship with him could hold.

Bringing him back from delicious wistfulness, the drunk's arm shifted, and Shawn struggled to keep his thoughts in check as the man's hand drifted lower with every move he made. Lassie, it seemed, could not burrow deep enough and Shawn's breath caught in his throat when the cop's long-fingers moved passed his waistband, accidentally copping a feel. The devil and the world both against him, Shawn bit his lip as Lassiter's palm stopped to rest directly on his growing erection, officially making the situation too hard to handle.

Carlton's state of mind more important to him than his own state of boner, Shawn wanted to remain chaste – a first for him after years of lecherousness. But, to his chagrin, he wasn't sure how to stay that way without resorting to less than snuggle-friendly tactics.

Picturing baseball wasn't gonna do it.

Neither was Googling gross medical conditions, his phone on the nightstand too far away.

And he certainly wasn't going to tarnish to moment by thinking of Henry naked, an old standby that not only worked but made him want to gouge his eyeballs out with a rusty spork.

Maybe he should try to talk to Lassie, find out what had caused his upset in the first place – the discomfort of a heavy conversation a good way to draw attention elsewhere, the detective's distress guaranteed to be an instant boner-killer.

Shawn looked down to see Lassiter on his chest, eyes closed and a small smile on his face as he hovered on the edges of slumber.

"Lassie?" the psychic said softly.

"Yeah?" Lassie whispered back, the word, thick with fatigue, barely making it past his lips.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

It didn't matter how much Shawn wanted to know or how badly needed to distract himself; with the man so close to passing out, his curiosity for a clearly upsetting topic had to wait, unwilling and unable to mess with the cop's contentment.

Carlytown was both happy and sleepy right now.

He was physically and – more importantly – emotionally comfortable pressed up against Shawn's body.

And Shawn wouldn't change that for anything, not the world, not unfathomable riches, not even the threat of a bullet to the temple.

"Nevermind," he said softly, kissing the top of the man's fine Irish head as he put the thought to rest, resigning himself to a long night made longer due to his raging erection. All that could matter come morning. Because in that moment, there was only one thing of importance.

"Sweet dreams, Lassie," he whispered to the gently dozing man, curling his arm around his shoulders.

"Sweet dreams."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHPT 3**

Shawn awoke to a damp spot on his shoulder a few hours later, wondering if Lassie was drooling before realizing the viscosity of the liquid soaking through his shirt was that of tears and not saliva.

He started, unsure of what to do. Though Lassiter had been wrecked earlier, Shawn hadn't realized it was _openly-weeping-on-top-of-him_ wrecked and he expected the detective might get abrasive were he to mention it. Still, it broke his heart to see and he decided then that even if it got him hit, there was just no way he could leave him in that state.

His fingers slowly pushed the silken salt-and-mostly-pepper off Lassie's brow and he leaned in to kiss the cop's forehead, watching as he shut his eyes like doing so would will the world away. Carlton softened at his touch, the act unconsciously letting Shawn know that he wasn't sleeping; that he was really faking slumber, awake a reality too complex to bear.

Lassie deserved so much more than the hurt he'd been immersed in all night long and the sight left Shawn with a pang of empathy so intense he was overtaken by a determination to make him feel better, regardless the cost.

His lashes fluttered when Shawn kissed his face again. The psychic's lips moved across his brow and down his nose, silently skating across his cheeks to wipe the tears away. Lassie murmured – nonsensical sounds that meant absolutely nothing. His eyes popped open, watery and wet from whatever misery he'd been holding in, and Shawn found himself unable to breathe, his heart caught in his throat.

Opening his mouth to speak, the detective's eyes darted around the room as they adjusted to the lack of light, but Shawn interrupted, whispering;

"It's okay, Lassie. Everything's okay."

Shawn ran his hand down the cop's arm, moving from Lassie's shoulder to his elbow to his clenched fist, prying it open and lacing their fingers together. Lassie closed his mouth and let him, his grip on Shawn saying everything his words couldn't. When he felt Carlton clutch him tight, Shawn knew he'd made the right move in refusing to let him lie there and cry. A question flickered in Lassiter's eyes and his lips parted to ask, but Shawn answered before he had the chance, hoping his tone carried all that Carlton had ever wanted to hear.

"It doesn't matter, Lassie. Whatever's eating you alive right now – it just doesn't matter. I've got you. I'm not letting go."

A whimper escaped the man's mouth at that, not like the one he'd made during their moment of hedonism in the rented hall, but one of sorrow somehow mixed with hope. The sound tugged at Shawn's heartstrings so hard it felt like they were going to snap, and he captured Lassie's chin with his free hand, deliberately holding the man in place. His fingers brushed across the cop's jaw as he spoke, and Carlton's eyes closed as Shawn's whispered assurances washed over him.

"You're not alone anymore," Shawn said, the affirmation tumbling from his lips almost faster than he could think, his need to comfort Carlton consuming. "You're not alone anymore because you've got me."

Rubbing circles into the webbing between Lassie's thumb and forefinger, he forced the muscles in the man's hand to slacken, Lassiter's grip nearly bone-shattering. "You've always had me, Lassie. I've been yours from the moment I saw you."

Shawn paused, letting it sink in that this was not a new attraction.

That he had wanted Lassie nigh on forever.

"Not during the McCallum case," he breathed. "Before."

Lassie's brow crinkled as he tried to understand. As he worked toward piecing the sentences together. As he came to a conclusion that didn't seem to make sense.

"That would mean – " he started, looking at Shawn with a gaze full of wonder, surprised and confused by the statement. Shawn shushed him again, a closed-mouth kiss quickly pressed against his lips, unable to care that Lassie had puked on him hours prior when he was so obviously wrapped in an emotional agony only he could relieve.

Or, at least, he hoped to.

Shawn considered his next sentence carefully, worried he might accidentally give away an even bigger secret. _The_ big secret. The one he fully intended to explain on a day that was very much not today, when he and Lassie were both sober and in much better places. Not that there was a much better place to be than Lassie's bed. But still...

Lassie didn't need that truth now.

He needed to be worshipped.

To be made to realize that nothing else existed when it was just the two of them.

Lassie needed love and acceptance and validation, all of which Shawn wanted to give him in spades.

"Your mustache was horrible, but your eyes were kind," he told Carlton, pressing himself close so Lassie could feel the way his heart trip-stepped with the truth. Lassie's heart beat hard against his and his gaze shot to Shawn's, searching for honesty in the psychic's features like he couldn't quite believe his words.

Shawn let him and, knowing the truth was there and laid bare, continued to console, soft and low and soothing.

"You were fresh out of the academy," he said, the pad of his thumb massaging Lassie's wrist. "Still working towards your degree, probably. And the world hadn't beaten you down yet."

Blood surged through veins beneath thin skin and Shawn kept speaking, tracing the life coursing through Lassie's wrist, his words flowing free as he painted a tale from long ago into the present with hopes he could make the man understand.

"You had that stupid little mustache. And you hadn't gotten your frown lines yet. And you looked at me with such confusion and compassion that I wondered how the hell a man like you had ever become a cop in the first place," he admitted, remembering the consoling yet confused look on the young cop's face, startled by his dad barking orders. "Worried over the young punk being brought in by the formidable Henry Spencer, not knowing that we were just escalating our regular Friday night fight. If he hadn't been dragging me down to booking, I'm sure I would have hit on you then, you know. And I'm sure it would have flustered you even more than it does now."

"But –"

"That would mean I've carried a Statue of Liberty sized torch for you for the last thirteen years? That I want you more than Pinky and the Brain want to take over the world? Well, the Brain, really. Pinky's just along for the ride." As he amended his statement, he felt Lassie's heart beat in time with the staccato rhythm of his own. "It would mean that I've watched you over the years – the years I was here, anyway – grow from a naive young Ackerman into a rough and gruff Pulvoski, all sexy Clint Eastwood-style. It'd mean that I've always known you had a soft squooshy center even though you've done your best to guard your heart and gird your loins and possibly shoot anyone that ever suggested as much."

Shawn paused a moment, just long enough for his tone to drop to a whisper.

"That no matter how hard you try to hide it, I know part of you will always care."

He thought a moment, then added with a grin –

"Please don't shoot me."

Carlton replied, smile thin.

"I appreciate the Rookie reference, but it's not exactly the most apt choice. Even _I_ can admit it wasn't a very good fi–"

"Shut up, Lassie," Shawn interrupted, finger pressed to the detective's lips to shush him. "You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can't lie to me. I see _everything_."

There it was. Half the secret, but Lassie was too distracted to realize the gravity of what he'd just been told.

He shook his head, eyes no longer leaking but still wet with tears, the brilliant shimmering blue of them cutting through the darkness like a beacon bringing ships home safe in the night, somehow searing into Shawn's soul despite the lack of light.

"I had just gotten engaged that weekend. Victoria and I –" Carlton started, voice cracking as if he hadn't spoken in ages, the weight of the emotion attached to it enormous. "We'd just moved in together and I was trying to convince myself that it was what I wanted. The next step to becoming a detective – to becoming the man I needed to be."

"You looked so sad, Lassie," Shawn replied, turning to his side so he could get a better look at the man he'd fallen head over heels for, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the cast of the room. "Like you weren't comfortable in your own gorgeous skin – like that sexy runner's body of yours was a rented suit you were being forced to wear to your own funeral."

Lassiter sighed, flopping on his back, his fingers still entwined in Shawn's.

"I know."

Shawn ran his hand across Lassie's jaw, dipping behind his ear to cup the back of his head, and Lassie just lay there, breathing deeply into the silence.

It took Shawn a second - a second of listening and loving and feeling - before he could gather the nerve to ask.

"If you know -?"

Lassie looked over, catching Shawn's eye.

Shawn held his gaze, the glance a particularly charged one.

"The man I thought I needed to be is not the man I _am_ ," Lassiter admitted, drawing the words out slowly. "And the man I _am_ was suppressed for a long time, Spencer. A _very_ long time."

Sure he knew the answer, Shawn still asked.

"How long?"

Carlton exhaled his response.

"Thirty-nine years. Eight months…"

He paused.

Breathed.

Continued.

"And eight days."

Shawn did the math in his head, putting it at -

A week and a half prior.

Ten days before, when he'd accosted Lassie with mistletoe at the Christmas party and worked his way into the detective's pants.

And heart, apparently.

"Oh, Lassie –" he moaned, hit with a wave of heavy emotion.

But it was Lassiter's turn to babble and he cut the psychic off, nearly frantic as he explained.

"Do you have any idea how impossible it's been working with you? Watching you?" he asked, eyes raking over Shawn's face, his heart splayed open on his own. "Seeing you flirt with O'Hara, or worse, with me? How tough it was to sit back and do nothing as you pulled your psychic bull-crap, dazzling and stretching your way into my lap in Vick's office? Or smacking my ass in front of my ex-father-in-law? Or any of the other ways you constantly propositioned me – always in public, I might add?"

He was exasperated, impassioned, and Shawn could only imagine how difficult it had been.

"How hard it was to do nothing when I wanted you desperately the whole time – just wanted to pin you down and take what I needed? Wanted to taste that frenetic energy of yours, never knowing if you meant what you said or if you were just fucking with me? Always being too scared to make a move, just in case you were?"

"Lassie, I –"

"I wanted you from the start, Spencer. Not the 'Henry arresting you' start, but from the first time I shoved you into the back of my car; the way your body pressed up against mine as you fought me, just _needing_ to flail about. Just _needing_ to prove you were smarter than me. Better than me."

"Lassie, I don't think I'm –"

"You made my blood boil, psychic." The nomenclature was laced with sarcasm and Shawn shivered when he heard it, Lassie's use of the title somehow both demeaning and uplifting. "I'd never been so pissed and so turned on at the same time. I thought it was just annoyance at first, but…"

Lassie took another deep breath, letting the sentence trail off, the end of it obvious and therefore not needing to be spoken.

"I'm surprised you couldn't tell by how riled up I was," he said, and Shawn rested his forehead against the cop's as he whispered his truth against Shawn's mouth. "You were so clever, and you didn't give a shit what people thought of you. You still don't."

Shifting their still twisted together hands to his lips, Lassie paused to kissed Shawn's knuckles.

"It didn't matter what I thought or what the Chief thought," he said, breath tickling the back of Shawn's fingers. "Or that you were pissing off one of the most powerful men in Santa Barbara. All that mattered was solving the case, even if nobody believed you. You were willing to look like a fucking fool, to put everything on the line just to get the bad guy."

Shawn laughed at that, quiet but still heartfelt.

"Still am."

"Yes, you still are. And you still do, all the damn time. Because the only thing that matters is what's right."

Lassie stopped. Swallowed, his eyes flashing in the night.

"Even if what's right seems so wrong."

"Lassie, we're _not_ wrong," Shawn breathed, his words ghosting across the detective's face, the psychic understanding the unsaid statement just fine. " _This_ isn't wrong. Being who you are and loving who you love isn't wrong, no matter what anyone else says."

"But"-

A chill raced through Carlton's body, the hairs on Lassie's arms standing on end, and he placed his mouth on the cop's jaw and kissed his way down his neck, lips lingering on Lassie's pulse point.

Shawn relished in the feel of it racing at his touch.

"Does this _feel_ wrong, Lassie?" he mumbled against the crook of Lassie's neck, tugging the collar of the detective's shirt aside.

Carlton closed his eyes, his breath quickening in response.

"No…"

Shawn rolled toward him. In one quick motion he hovered over the man, the elbow connected to the hand holding Lassiter's propping him up, the other following the trail his mouth left. Nipping at collarbone, his tongue darted out to lick the barely abused flesh he left behind, and he felt Lassie – the way his chest rose and fell, the tiny shocks rushing through him, how his skin flushed in response to Shawn's movements – and was pleased.

"Does this?"

He muttered against skin, knowing the vibrations his mouth made would travel straight to the cop's groin.

Growing aroused, Lassie breathed again, his heart pounding harder with every syllable Shawn spoke.

"No… it doesn't."

Lassie's shirt was still open from earlier in the night so Shawn slipped lower to finish peeling the cop from his top, stopping only when the man's ribcage lay bared beneath him. He caressed his way down, lips following fingers threading through thick chest hair, his mouth hop-skipping south until it latched onto an already erect nipple.

Lassiter quivered at the connection, the psychic's tongue swiping across the pebbled flesh. Shawn savored in the slightly salty taste of it – dusky and dark, just like the detective's mood had been – and when Lassie's breath caught in his throat, he cataloged the hitch. Loving how openly his lover reacted to his movements, he filed the reaction away to achieve again later. _Now_ , Shawn wanted more than simple breathlessness; he aimed to make the cop crumble. His freed fingers fluttering down Lassiter's ribcage, he scraped his teeth across sensitive skin, gently tormenting with a calm sense of contentment and watching as the detective bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed beautifully in full-blown satisfaction.

But it wasn't enough.

The look of pleasure on Lassie's face was mind-blowing, but Shawn wanted more. _Needed_ more. Was willing to give almost anything to see Lassie truly let go.

To take him out of his brain and bring him into his body.

To make him nothing but a bundle of nerves, tethered to the Earth by only Shawn's touch.

A wicked thought popping into the psychic's head, he flicked the tip of his tongue and blew a quick puff of air across the glistening wet flesh before pulling away to leave the detective writhing at the sensation. Lassie's body arched up in response and, the detective gasping as their bodies melded together, Shawn smiled as he noticed his detective already half-hard.

The thought that _he_ was affecting the detective this way, that _he_ was the one that made Lassie's heart pitter-patter and his skin tingle and his boner rage… it made Shawn's heart feel fit to burst, the man overwhelmed by this odd feeling he'd never experienced before.

Love.

He rolled the thought around in his head, tasting it on the back of his tongue, his heart having clenched when Lassie had drunkenly declared his. But what was love, really and truly?

Shawn had thought for so long that it was the need to be with another person, the want to spend all their waking hours together. He'd never wanted that before – never with anyone other than Val Kilmer, of course – and while that certainly seemed to be a part of it, it was then that he realized love was putting someone else first, their needs more important than one's own. Love was his desire to never let Lassiter feel alone again. It was the pressing urgency to ensure Lassie's happiness, the ability to make him feel better the most important of Shawn's skills.

It was the fact that he wanted to do it forever – to take care of Carlton until the end of days.

Lassie's every wish was his command. The cop had him completely and utterly wrapped, and Shawn realized he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pressing his lips into the hollow of each rib bone he passed, he crossed Lassiter's body with licks and little nips to drive the man wild; a reminder that there was nothing but the two of them in that moment – no world outside the euphoria of seconds slowly slipping between their interlocked fingers. He nuzzled into the soft skin at Carlton's hipbone – that perfect V, sculpted like a statue of Apollo made flesh just for him – and breathed in the gentle scent of the man, gunpowder lingering though it had been weeks since Lassie had last fired his gun. The smell of him was intoxicating, a special blend of seduction and masculinity that shot straight to Shawn's groin, and he wondered how it would taste, curbing his curiosity by indulging himself immediately, Lassie's hip held down as the man moved beneath him, the flat of Shawn's tongue slowly swiping across the exposed indent.

"Shawn," Lassiter moaned, letting go of Shawn's hand to grasp him by the back of his head, restrained need reaching his voice.

Shawn looked up in shock, his eyes flitting to Lassie's face, the fingers in his hair preventing further movement. He was rarely anything other than Spencer, just like Carlton was always some version of Lassie, and Shawn knew that not being called by his surname meant something important. Meant that maybe Carlton was surrendering what little control he'd been holding on to, finally giving into sensation instead.

Something sparked when their eyes met, Carlton's beautiful blues clouded with what Shawn could only assume was love; lust mingled with emotion stronger than he had ever seen on Lassie's face before. On _anyone's_ face before. It was heavy, and it was warm, the intensity nearly freezing him in place as it clutched at his heart and kicked at his soul, unlocking something deep inside.

Full of magic, the moment stretched, the psychic's return stare full of blunt affection and Shawn couldn't stop himself, the words falling from his lips before he even realized he'd spoken.

He broke the silence, the words the truest thing he'd ever said.

"God, Lassie. You're so fucking beautiful right now."

A flush crossed the cop's cheeks at that and he turned his head to the side as if he could avoid the truth of the statement by not acknowledging it. But Shawn continued, his warm breath caressing the cop's bare skin and exposed vulnerabilities.

"You're so fucking beautiful and you don't even know it." Dipping his head to place small kisses along Lassie's belt line, his fingers fumbled to work the man's fly open. "If nobody's ever told you that before, they're all a pack of morons, Lassie. Even dumber than that kid in the fifth grade who thought the first man on the moon was the camera guy."

The sound of the zipper sliding down filled the room and Lassie lifted his hips, allowing Shawn to divest him of his pants, the cop left wearing nothing but boxer-briefs as his khakis hit the floor behind him. Carlton started to speak but quickly stopped, his statement turning into a muffled whimper when Shawn mouthed at his cloth-clad cock, his lips tracing the outline and further dampening the already wet spot he found there.

"Because you are, you know. Beautiful and seductive and so very _mine,_ " Shawn insisted, his fingers drawing down the detective's inner thigh as his mouth made magic happen. "Or at least, I want you to be. Cause how could this be wrong, Lassie? How could my loving you ever be wrong?"

He hadn't planned on saying it.

It wasn't the traditional declaration of 'I love you', nor the avant-garde alcohol-fueled admission Lassie had upchucked all over him earlier. But Shawn didn't regret it in the slightest. Lassie needed to hear it and he needed to say it, the feeling having grown from an esoteric sexual obsession into something so much more profound. He couldn't believe how aroused he'd been the first few times Lassie had manhandled him, but he'd just assumed the cop's alpha-male mentality and raging authoritarianism had gotten entangled in his daddy issues. Wrong. Shawn had been so, _so_ wrong.

It was that night at Tom Blair's that clued him in to the fact that he'd caught a case of the feelings. Carlton had spent weeks acting like his enemy then with one drunken admission cut Shawn's legs straight from under him. Not only had he exclaimed astonishment over the pseudo-psychic's sleuthing skills, he had opened up about his separation, sharing with Shawn a secret that nobody else knew – not even his partner. And it was in that moment Shawn realized he'd been gifted something rarer than gold found at the end of any rainbow, far more precious than the stars. Somehow, Shawn had attained a sliver of Lassie's trust. And it was a thing he planned on nursing from a fragile little creature into something strong enough to withstand the weight of the world.

He had wanted it, wanted so desperately to prove to the man his worth, and once he knew he had, he was willing to do almost anything to keep that trust, not realizing until then exactly how much it meant.

Carlton was strong.

Solid.

Honest.

True.

He was a good man.

And for some reason, he trusted _Shawn._

Imagine how he felt then, when the emotion didn't go away. Instead it mutated into honest-to-god affection, the time he spent with the detective in a hands-free capacity just as adrenaline-pumping as the encounters full of touchy-feely: Carlton's hand on his collar, Shawn's fingers splayed across Lassie's thigh, arms wrapped around each other as the cop escorted the counterfeit clairvoyant out of a room or off of a case.

Shawn felt sad when Lassie was sad. He was pissed when Lassie was pissed. Became absolutely elated when he saw even a semblance of a smile cross the other man's face. It was astounding and mind-boggling and pants-wetting; the terror he felt at encountering feeling unrelated to his libido staggering. And that was how he knew he needed to kick It up a notch, having never experienced anything other than the desire to flee far and fast when things had the option of turning serious.

Shawn couldn't believe it but _serious_ is exactly how he felt. Seriously in love and seriously willing to make a fool out of himself to prove it if he had to. He acted an idiot for far less important things on a near-daily basis, after all. What was one more act of jack-assery when it was one of such importance?

"You –" Lassie began. The honesty was sobering, and Shawn watched as clarity encompassed the cop, the admission smashing him in the face with the force of a cast iron frying pan.

"Yeah, Lassie," Shawn responded, unable to hold the emotion at bay. "Even though it scares the hell out of me, I fucking love you. You're the best thing since the invention of blowjobs and I don't know what I'd do without you. Why else do you think you're the one I always bother – the one I sit on and play with and practically molest in public whenever I can? I've been pulling your pigtails, Lass, trying to get you to notice me."

The cop stopped breathing, the impact of Shawn's honesty clearly overwhelming, the only thing letting the pseudo-psychic know he was still alive the thump-thumping of his heart in his chest.

"God, Lassie. I don't know how you don't know that," he continued, nuzzling Carlton's groin with his nose as he spoke, his gaze still locked on the detective's. "I don't know how you don't see how close to perfect you are. How amazing –"

"I'm not."

The words tore from Lassie's lips sounding pained, like he wanted desperately to believe them but something was holding him back. It broke Shawn's heart to hear, the man's self-esteem so low that he believed so much less of himself than Shawn knew to be true.

"I'm not," he said again. "I'm –"

Shawn interrupted, his fingers slipping beneath Lassie's shorts as he kissed his way back up the man's lithe frame. His teeth latched onto an earlobe and he whispered, the words filled with as much conviction as he could muster.

"You are, Lassie. You are because I say you are. You're perfect to me and I love you so _fucking_ much."

Carlton opened his mouth to speak again and Shawn took advantage, running his hand down Lassie's length and brushing his lips against the shell of his ear.

"You're smart and you're strong and you're loyal. You're gruff and you're rough and you're sexy as hell. You're the only one who challenges me, the one who holds my strings when I'm flying high," he said, pressing a kiss into the tender flesh just below Lassiter's earlobe, followed by a second and third along the cop's jaw. "You're the high-octane fuel for my fucking jet-pack, Lassie, but you're also its built-in navigation system, keeping me safe and guiding me home."

Lassie laughed at that, a soft low chuckle as his body responded to Shawn's wandering fingers trying to touch as much of him as they could.

"You expect more out of me than anybody else, you know," Shawn breathed, lips at the corner of Lassiter's mouth as he kept talking. Talking as close as he could without actually kissing him. "But you also _make me want to give it to you._ "

He wasn't sure whether it was his admission or the motion of his hand as it wrapped around the base of Carlton's cock that did it, but the man bucked and his breath grew ragged, Lassie's heart beating so hard Shawn swore he could almost hear it.

"Shawn –" he moaned, the sound equally raw and erotic as it scraped across Shawn's name. "God, Spencer, I need –"

"Whatever you want, Lassie," Shawn whispered, digits dancing across hot, hard flesh. He knew what _he_ wanted to do, but what _he_ wanted wasn't important. It was all about Lassie. What Lassie wanted and what Lassie needed and how he could possibly make the man believe everything he said was the truth. "I'll give you the world if you ask for it. Pluck the stars from the fucking sky and make them dance before your eyes like Michigan J. Frog if that's what will make you happy."

"Your mouth," Carlton gasped, lashes fluttering closed as he sank into his pillow and surrendered to the feeling of Shawn's hand as it moved. The phrase – two short, sexy, _sensual_ words – sent a jolt straight to Shawn's cock and he happily complied, pressing wet kisses along Lassiter's neck as he slid himself down his lover's body. His talented fingers touched as slowly as his lips danced down the man's sternum and Lassie's breath grew heavy, his pulse racing as Shawn descended.

"I need –"

Lassie wanted exactly what Shawn had hoped to offer, but it didn't mean the psychic wasn't going to take his sweet time giving it to him. The first time he had sucked Carlton off had been a rushed affair, an air of urgency enveloping them as they finally came together in a rented hall, expressing their desire for each other in a way that never would have happened were it not for a sprig of mistletoe and some too-strong eggnog supplying Shawn with the type of courage he usually had to fake. And while he wouldn't trade the experience for anything on this earth, this time he wanted it to be different.

To be special, however much of a sap that made him.

When drew his hand off Lassiter's erection, Lassie moaned at the loss, biting his lower lip as if the disconnect from Shawn's flesh was torture. But Shawn quickly hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the cop's underwear and drew them down the length of his slender frame until they followed the trajectory of his pants, effortlessly falling to the floor at the end of the bed.

The cool air caressed Carlton and he shivered and Shawn chose that moment to make it worse in the best possible way. His breath warmed the cop's sensitive skin for a single moment before his tongue slipped out to lick a long stripe against the throbbing flesh. Lassiter bit back a sound in his throat and Shawn cupped his hand and twisted his wrist, beyond pleased when the feel of his palm rubbing into the crown of Carlton's cock caused the man to buck again.

"Shawn –" Lassie said, practically pleading, his eyes searching for the psychic's as he exhaled. As the breath left Carlton's body, Shawn licked him a second time, watching those pools of cerulean grow wide, Lassiter's pupils blown and his desire wild. Pointing it into an evil little triangle, he tapered his tongue and paid special attention to the head of Lassie's cock, his lips grazing the man's foreskin as his other hand gently pushed it back, using it and the moisture from his mouth to stroke him.

Slowly.

Very

incredibly

 _unnecessarily_

ridiculously

devilishly

slowly,

torturing the detective with his tentative touch.

"Shawn –" Lassie said again, high and shaky as Shawn's tongue flickered, a soft hum of pleasure escaping the psychic as he dipped into the slit, lapping at the gathering moisture.

"Spencer –" Lassie begged, and hearing the detective so desperate made Shawn nearly lose it right there. His own cock just ached to be touched, the pressure of his zipper pressing against him practically unbearable. But he ignored the throb, knowing his own release would be nothing compared to one he was working the cop toward, both physical and emotional.

Skirting a hand across Carlton's stomach, he curled it in soft belly fur, focusing instead on the pleasure of his partner. Shawn held him in place and wrapped his fingers around the base of the detective's dick, drawing it into his mouth he applied gentle suction. Lassie shoved a hand through Shawn's hair in response, holding him firm as his other hand fisted the sheets beneath his body. A hiss slipped through his lips when Shawn shifted his attention, his tongue running across the sensitive glans at a speed that made them both feel like time had stopped existing.

Shawn's scalp tingled at Lassie's fingers in his hair. He loved the touch, the brief flare of pain that burned through him from tip to toes reminding him that he was alive.

He was _alive_ , and was human, and could be hurt – _had_ been hurt; hell, he could die at any time, doing what he did. But right now he was happy. He was happy, and he was in love and he was so fucking full of life, his fantasies somehow becoming reality for the second time.

"Spencer –" Lassie growled and Shawn glanced up, the fire in Lassiter's eyes making him freeze. The cop's brow creased, looking like it was taking all he had not to move, not to thrust up and face-fuck the psychic right there. So, sweetheart that Shawn was, he took the thought from his head and brought it to his dick instead, sliding down in one swift motion, throat constricting when his gag-reflex kicked in.

Lassiter's mouth widened in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as Shawn flattened his tongue and hollowed his cheeks, deliberately drawing himself back then moving forward again. The psychic increased the suction as he picked up pace, repeating the motion until Lassie choked on his name like Shawn had choked on his cock, the cop's control clearly slipping.

"Spencer –" Lassie moaned, louder this time, his strengthening grip sending tingles down Shawn's spine.

Shawn's mouth left Lassie with a soft pop as he pulled off and stared, the same question in his eyes as the one leaving his lips.

"Carlton?"

The look on Lassie's face as Shawn said his name was orgasmic in its own right, like it had brushed his prostate and hugged him tight and set the entirety of his body alight, amazement and confusion and desire laced together and aimed directly at Shawn's heart.

It left Shawn breathless and desperate and _so fucking over the moon_.

The name awkward in his mouth, Shawn said it again, just to see the look intensify.

"Carlton?" he whispered, lips barely moving even though his fingers hadn't stopped, digits sliding up and down rigid flesh that somehow got thicker and darker and harder every time Lassie heard his name.

"God, Spencer –"

"Not God, but I can make you feel like I am," Shawn smirked.

Propped up on his elbows, Carlton rolled his eyes. Shawn wasn't sure if it was because of his winning sarcasm or the fact that he'd just run a thumb along the throbbing vein on the underside of Lassie's cock, but he had an inkling that it might be both.

"What's gonna make you feel good right now?"

The question came out heavy and thick and Shawn dragged his fingers up the inside of Lassiter's thigh, relishing in the feel of the man's skin turning to gooseflesh when the back of his knuckles grazed a testicle.

"Isn't God supposed to be omniscient?" Lassie sputtered when Shawn continued to fondle, leaning forward to kiss his way back up the cop's shaft and smiling into taut, hot skin when he heard Carlton's response.

"Not God," the psychic reminded gently, tongue sneaking out for another taste as a laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Not God. But I know what you want, Lassie. And, fuck – I want it, too."

Lassie's head hit his pillow as he responded to the warm wet muscle sliding against the ridge of his dick. His hips carted forward of their own accord, and Shawn swirled his tongue like the cop was made of his favorite flavor ice-cream and he just couldn't get enough. Like Carlton was his very own delectable dripping Lassie-cicle.

"Do it, then."

A pause. Nerves cast by the wayside, Lassie's voice turned stern – that same sexy sound he used to break criminals down.

"If you know, then do it."

Shawn beamed, never more glad to be ordered around in his life, the rasp of Lassiter's demand thrilling him. Making him yearn for more.

"Lift your legs," he breathed, and Lassie did, wordlessly shifting in place like he was steeling himself for something he wanted but was still uncertain of. But it was okay, and it was expected. Lassie was new to this – Shawn could practically guarantee it – and while blowjobs would come and blowjobs would go, this was an act of trust unprecedented. Not only in that he wanted it, but that he had asked for it, trusting Shawn enough with his pleasure.

It was also really fucking hot.

"Shhhh," Shawn whispered, rubbing at Carlton's hip as he moved into position, feeling the cop relax.

He peppered kisses against a knee while he inched his way forward, remembering from last time that Lassie had liked that. That it had soothed him. Made him more pliant, willing and ready for what was to come. Lassie twitched under Shawn's lips as Shawn crept toward his goal and Shawn infused each kiss with more affection than he'd ever poured into anything, needing Lassie to know this was about far more than just sex to him. His body practically vibrating in response, Shawn was sure Lassie felt it, and he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to make the cop feel this way for as long as he possibly could.

When he reached Lassie's balls, mouth meeting flesh where Carlton's body split in two, he lapped without hesitation, the fine hair beneath his tongue dampening, the skin tightening at his touch. Shawn took a moment to breathe in the scent, his lips working around one testicle then another just long enough to suck – just long enough for Lassiter to buck.

"Spencer –"

His name was husky, threaded through with need, the sound of it electric. It made Shawn nearly come in his pants completely untouched and he knew that if he lifted his head to stare into the gaze boring into him, he would. So, he didn't, choosing to ignore the desire pulsing through his groin to lavish all his attention on Lassie instead.

As he dipped back down, long toned legs slipped over Shawn's shoulders and the hand in his hair fervently urged him to continue. Lassie pulled Shawn close and, tongue pressed against taint, Shawn heard him groan, the sound coming from deep inside the cop's chest.

"Spencer –"

As Shawn's tongue drifted back to reach its target, his name turned into a moan. He brushed against Carlton, briefly at first then more intently, long slow swipes against trembling flesh. The tip of his tongue circled and swirled and flicked at Lassie's hole, and his heels dug into Shawn's back and he loved it. Loved knowing it took so little to drive his lover crazy.

So little from _him_. Lassie was _his_ lover.

Had there not been such a delectable task in front of him, Shawn might have wept with joy. But with something much better to do than cry readily available, he took his time, tracing every ridge of the crevice as slow as he could. He wanted Lassie to feel him there – feel him licking and sucking and swiping and probing, using his lips as much as he used his tongue – knowing that every nerve would be super-sensitized, every part of him hyper-aware.

"Shawn –" Lassie whimpered, and _fuck_ , he never tired of hearing his name in the deep dulcet tones of his favorite detective, overjoyed by the fact that he'd reduced Lassie to a single syllable and that syllable was _Shawn_. The need behind his name as it spilled from Lassie's lips made him feel as naked and vulnerable as the man bared beneath him, and he grabbed hold with both hands to spread Carlton wide, his tongue slipping inside – the soft, wet, supple muscle spearing into the detective and fucking him ever so slowly.

Lassie's body shuddered around the welcome intrusion.

"Sp – Spencer –" he stuttered, one hand clamped onto Shawn's shoulder, the other on the back of the psychic's head, his knuckles white as he struggled to hold on.

Shawn smiled but didn't let up. His fingers moved back to Lassie's dick, stroking down every time his tongue slid deeper, and Carlton arched up in response, ass sliding into Shawn's face. The psychic's nose pressed against perineum and it caused the cop to mewl – fucking _mewl_ – Shawn's grin growing wide as his mind raced. Ever the opportunist, he took the movement as a sign straight from Eros. The Greek god of lusty feelings clearly wanted him to sink his teeth into the well-toned flesh before him, proving that Lassie did, in fact, have the most biteable butt ever, just as Shawn had said all along. And prove it he did, his teeth nipping not-quite gently before he pulled away to see the man's face flush and chest heaving.

"Dammit, Spencer," Lassie warned, and Shawn laughed, knowing the warning was a hollow one.

He just smirked harder, his smile splitting ear-to-ear as he held Lassie's gaze. Drawing his hand to his mouth, he coated it in saliva before wrapping it back around the detective's dick. Eyebrow arched, he asked, "You want me to stop?" and Lassie stilled, shaking his head when he found himself unable to speak.

"Want me to keep going?"

Dark and dangerous, he dared Carlton to deny his need, knowing, just _knowing_ , he wouldn't.

"You want my hand on your cock and my tongue up your ass, Lass?"

Lassie turned red at that, but his eyes shone – just fucking _scorched_ – and he nodded, swallowing the words so obviously stuck in his throat.

With a quick lick of the lips, Shawn moved to oblige. His free hand brushed along Lassie's jaw and moved down his neck, carding through thick chest hair as it drifted south. The other worked the man's dick, lackadaisically at first, then building up speed. When it was clear he was driving Lassie the right kind of crazy, Shawn caressed his hip-bone both lovingly and lazily before moving to circle the center of the man, the soft pad of his middle finger rubbing against the quivering muscle. Rubbing, but never dipping in.

"God," Lassie breathed, body shaking with anticipation, tiny tremors sending shivers up his spine.

Looking at him, Shawn chuckled, making it his mission to take in _everything_. Memorizing the moment, he seared the image of Lassie splayed out on the mattress into his mind – Lassie writhing and begging and pleading for more, so open and free from whatever had bound him into misery. It was perfection, and Shawn loved him all the more for it.

Shawn _loved_ him.

Shawn loved him, and Lassie felt it and it was obvious – _so_ obvious – that he loved Shawn back. And Shawn wanted to remember every ticking second of it. The sight and sound and smell of it. The feeling – the never-before had _feeling_ – in his heart and in his mind and in his flesh and chest and touch, knowing he would wrap himself in it like a cozy blanket and bask when the bad days inevitably came.

"Maybe next time, Lassie," he teased.

Lassie nodded again in agreement, looking like he wasn't really there – like any semblance of cognizant thought had left his mind. But he _had_ nodded, which meant that he wasn't objecting to a next time, maybe many next times, and the thought warmed Shawn's heart.

"Will you fuck me next time?"

Shawn stilled, the question unexpected and ball-tightening and _really_ fucking hard to respond logically to, spoken so soft and low it took him a moment to realize it hadn't been imagined.

"Please? If not now then –"

Lassie stopped.

Breathed.

Looked at Shawn from beneath heavily lidded eyes.

"Soon?"

"Lassie – I – "

Shawn didn't know what to say. How to tell him no when all he wanted to do was dive in and do him right there. He couldn't believe his ears, sure the words had been pulled straight from of his daydreams and night dreams and pretty much any moment he hadn't been actively paying attention, his mind constantly wandering to fantasies of doing exactly that. But he couldn't – _wouldn't_ – claim Lassie that way.

He _wouldn't_.

Not now.

Not like this.

Shawn needed to make sure that their first time fucking – _really_ fucking, where both gave as good as they got – wasn't just because one was comforting the other. He needed to make sure it wasn't a half-drunk decision that might come back to bite them in the ass like he'd just bitten Lassie. And it wasn't even that he minded the comforting part; in fact, he found that he was coming to love comforting Carlton and he was sure Carlton was coming to love it in return.

The problem – and the reason he wasn't going to give the detective the good dicking he desired – was that he wanted Lassie sober. Needed to make sure the man was one-hundred and fifty-three percent behind this idea and not just asking because he was a little drunk and a little overwhelmed and latching onto the person offering him affection and assurance. Everything up until that point had been consensual, yes, but even though they were very obviously into each other, Shawn knew that sex – _anal_ sex, as in popping Lassie's booty cherry, stretching the chocolate starfish, becoming butt buddies, packing _all sorts_ of fudge – was an entirely different story. He just couldn't chance burying himself balls deep in the detective and having him feel like it was a mistake come morning, no matter how much they might enjoy it right now.

"Have you ever -?" Shawn asked, trying to clear his head and bring himself back to his senses, the mixture of fear and desire radiating from Lassiter nearly knocking him senseless.

"No," Lassie said, sounding shaky. Sounding like it was killing him to admit but he was willing to do it anyway if it meant he could get Shawn to agree. "But I want you. Want you to, _need_ you to. I need you to make me feel –"

Shawn's mouth crushed against the cop's with frightening speed, the knowledge that Lassie wanted him that much, _needed_ him that much sending the air straight out of him. He still wouldn't do it now no matter how badly he wanted to, but maybe, just _maybe_ he could still give Lassie _something_.

"Lassie –"

Panting, he broke away and tried to calm himself, his body pressed into the detective's so hard you'd think they were glued together.

"Lassie…" he moaned. "I want to say yes. I want to say yes so bad and just screw you into the mattress right now. But I can't. I _won't_."

Lassie's eyes dimmed. When the detective dropped his head in shame, Shawn kicked himself, never wanting to put that look on the Lassiter's face again. Not wanting it to be there in the first place. The need to touch him almost painful, he captured Carlton's chin, lifting it in hopes the man would look him in the face.

"Lassie," he began, desperate to ensure what he was trying to say was understood beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was the furthest thing from what he felt, but Shawn kept steady as he shot Carlton a look, his hazel eyes locking onto Lassie's blue ones.

"I would give anything to be buried deep inside you right now. Anything –"

The words came slowly, each syllable suffused with purpose.

With need.

With truth.

"– to hear you scream my name and feel you claw at my back as I fucked you into oblivion. Don't think for a second that I wouldn't."

The weight and pain on Lassie's face faded as Shawn spoke, replaced by a barely-there glimmer of heat and hope as he very clearly pictured what the psychic had just described.

"But now is not the time."

Shawn dropped his hand to Lassie's chest and his fingers twisted in stern-bush as they made their way to the man's hip, curling around its curve to hold him there.

"I can't even guarantee there _will_ be a time, Lass," he said. "And it kills me – it fucking _kills_ me – to think that you might wake up tomorrow and hate yourself for everything we did tonight. I mean, I hope not; I _really_ fucking hope not. But I can't take that chance. I can't let being half-drunk and upset be your first time, Lassie. And I can't promise that I'll fuck you silly next time because we don't even know if there _will_ be a next time. Not for sure. Not really."

Lassiter's eyes flashed with ire at that, and his voice stiffened as his hard-on wilted, the blood slowly draining from his dick and rushing back to his head.

"I know what I want, Spencer. Don't insult me by suggesting I don't."

"Lassifrass, I'm not," Shawn said, stroking small circles on Lassie's hip to soothe his unleashed beast. "I know you want me. I wouldn't be here if you didn't."

And it was true. Carlton Lassiter was a man who would rather shoot himself in the face than do something he didn't want to, and nothing Shawn could have said nor done would have gotten him here if it Lassie hadn't wanted it. But there was more to it than that, and because he only ever _played_ dumb, Shawn knew it.

"My tongue wouldn't have been butt-spelunking if you didn't."

He took a deep breath, then dropped the bomb as gently as he could.

"I wouldn't have woken up with you _crying on my chest_ if you didn't. Cause that's what this is about, isn't it, Carlycue? You want me, yeah, but you're also trying to prove something to yourself."

Lassiter dropped his gaze again, face paling like Shawn had hit the nail on the head and he was ashamed of the answer.

Sliding down to curl into the side of Lassiter's body, Shawn draped his arm around the man's midsection. He gave him a moment, and silence in the room seemed deafening until Shawn spoke yet again.

"You don't have anything to prove, you know," he told Lassie. "Not to me, not to your mom, not to yourself –"

At the mention of his mother, Carlton cocked his head, confusion evident on his face. Shawn carried on, choosing to ignore it.

"This isn't about being gay or straight or bi or pan or whatever," he insisted. "It's not about what will happen to your job or your relationship with Jules or even anything past the two of us in this room right now. I just wanted to make you feel good, Lass – fresh sheets, full tank of gas, found a fifty in your pocket, dancing on sunshine, high on life feel good."

When he heard what the psychic had to say, Lassie loosened up a little. His hand moved to cover Shawn's, their fingers tangling together as they rested on his stomach.

"If there's nothing but right now –" he started, slow and sly.

"I'm still not gonna fuck you, dude. And I'm not gonna promise, either," Shawn said firmly, running his thumb along the long line of Lassiter's index finger as he reveled in the small intimacy of his head resting on Lassie's chest. He felt his human pillow's heart beating steady and he continued, "Not until we're both lame-kid-at-the-party-who-agreed-to-be-the-designated-driver sober. We're gonna be responsible and wait until we're both clear-headed so we can really talk about this. I told you I love you and I meant it, Lassie. And I'm pretty sure this is how I get to prove it – by making smart, adult decisions for what might be the first time in my life."

"But –"

"And if _you_ love _me_ ," he interrupted, talking over what was likely the detective's attempt at persuasion, " – which, BTdubz, I'm pretty sure you do, and not just cuz you said so before you ruined my shoes – you're gonna accept it and let me. I mean, you've been on my case to act like a big boy for years now, right? Guess you get your wish after all."

He grinned and poked Lassie in the chest to emphasize the point.

"Check me out, all growed-up!"

Lassiter pulled away at the statement; rolling his eyes at the implication that this was somehow his doing, his head hit his pillow with a sigh.

"You choose _now_ to listen to me, Spencer? Of all the possible…" he shook his head in disbelief. "You know you suck, right?"

Slipping his hand free, Shawn grinned in response. He dragged his fingers through the fur of Lassie's treasure trail, stopping to rest just above his half-hard cock, feeling the skin of the man's lower stomach flush with heat.

"Sure do, Lassie," Shawn said, placing a kiss at the hollow of Carlton's throat before pulling away, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I suck _real_ well. And I might not be willing to fuck you, but I never said _this –"_

His hand drifted lower and his short nails skimmed across the detective's dick. Shawn heard the hitch in Lassie's breath return and knew he'd gotten back on the right track. proud of himself for doing so quickly and easily.

" – had to stop."

Lassie's skin tightened. The fine hair all over his body rose at the touch or the insinuation or maybe both, and Shawn swung himself over Lassie's legs to straddle him, raising a brow as he asked his next question.

"Now," he said, lazily circling Lassie's belly-button, fingers tip-toeing around the divot in the cop's flesh. "Do you want me to keep sucking you off? Or did you want to bury your dick deep down my throat all by your lonesome?" Shawn drawled it out like a caricature of an Old West Sherriff would, knowing it would rankle Lassie in all the right ways. "Because the spirits tell me you've been dying to fuck my face-hole for a while there now, partner, and I am super-de-duper okay with that. Y'know, if that's what you want."

He blinked at Lassiter, the look on his face innocent though they both knew his thoughts were downright devilish. What was once half-mast raised to full and Shawn grinned wildly at the rock-hard cock pressed against his thigh, Lassie obviously loving the suggestion. But the grin lasted for only a moment as Carlton reached out to slide two fingers past the psychic's slick lips, eyes blazing behind hooded lids as Shawn sucked them through his reply.

"Yes."

It was open and honest, laced with more need than Shawn thought could be poured into a single word and he almost laughed, the one answer to two inquiries tickling his funny bone. Lassie was far too turned on to differentiate between questions, but he didn't have to when Shawn had a trick or three he was happy to use to give him something he clearly wanted but couldn't properly ask for.

Biting at fingertips before he pulled away, his head tilted into Lassiter's touch, and the man swiped the wetness onto the psychic's mouth in retaliation as he continued to speak, rough and ragged and impatient.

"Put your mouth back on me, boy."

 _Oh god_ was that the hottest thing Shawn had ever heard, the shift in dynamic giving him chills. He'd had Lassie order him around before but never like this, and as he moved to do as requested, the cop's hands followed, clutching him by his hair as he guided him back down. Eyes closed, Shawn licked at the tip before being tugged back, Lassie's mouth twisted in a grin of his own.

"I said your mouth, Spencer, not your tongue," he rasped, guttural and growly and _so_ fucking sexy. "I want to be buried so deep inside you I leave an imprint. You want me to feel good? Fucking _suck me_ already."

Shawn nodded.

Shuddered.

Was glad he was already on his knees because there was no _way_ his legs were going to work after that, every ounce of strength they possessed rushing out of them the second the statement hit his ears.

Bending forward, he placed his hands on Lassie's hips, the head of the man's dick hitting his lips as he opened wide to let him in. Lassie hissed at the sensation, Shawn's tongue swirling as he applied suction, working his way down until his face was pressed against the soft curls he'd just been playing with.

The skin against the back of his throat throbbed and he constricted the muscles around Lassie's cock, broken moans ringing through the air in response. Carlton's grip tightened and, fingers digging what felt like furrows into Shawn's scalp, he reacted to the insistent pressure that said Shawn belonged to him and only him, the psychic putting his notoriously big mouth to good use and making the most important promises he could manage without ever uttering a word.

Big hands cupped the sides of his jaw, Lassie's long fingers sliding from the nape of Shawn's neck to his face and Shawn kept himself still and focused on the feel – the way his pulse picked up pace and the smell of musk and the slightly sharp taste; the blood pumping through the palms of the detective's hands as he held him in place; how he began to thrust up, his hips lifting off the mattress propelled by lust, dropping back down in time with the rise and fall of Shawn's chest; the wrong yet erotic feeling of fabric against his skin as he _finally_ realized that he was still fully dressed.

Shawn wanted to scramble out of his clothes as quickly as he scrambled for coherent thought but both remained elusive, Lassie doing to him what he had planned on doing to Lassie – shrinking his world from expansive down to nothing but a pinprick of desire, the effect he was having on the psychic's body and brain and heart and soul the only thing left in Shawn's pretty little head. He heard a strangled groan as the detective slid deeper and while it was the noise the psychic felt like making himself, he knew it had come from Lassiter. That it had been Lassie's need, Lassie's desire, Lassie's approval. Shawn wrapped his fingers around Carlton's wrists, holding on to the man holding onto him as if to say _"Yes, this is what I want. You are what I want. Who I want. Who I need. Use me. Make me yours. I'm yours",_ and knew that Carlton somehow knew, his movements gaining speed, sweet but naughty nothings spilling from his lips and cutting straight through to Shawn's core.

But they weren't nothings. They weren't nothings because they were _everything_.

Shawn wished he could see himself – aware of how it must look and how they must look together – and he glanced up at Carlton from the submissive position, taken aback by the look of reverence on Lassie's face, adoration flaring from his eyes as Shawn swallowed him whole. Their combined passion bypassed Shawn's sometimes finicky gag-reflex and the psychic delighted in the drag and slide of Lassie's dick so deep inside of him. If he could, he would have smiled, knowing that even if Lassie's actions didn't leave an imprint on his flesh, they were marking him in other ways. Far more important ways. Irrevocable, inconceivable, erotic, heart-changing, brain-melting ways.

After this, there would be no other. And Shawn didn't want there to be, already picturing the terrifying yet oh so satisfying possibility of forever.

"Fuck. Yes, just like that," Lassiter practically purred, and Shawn couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop himself. Struggled to remember if he'd ever been this horny for someone else before, not only for their body but for their brain and their happiness and pleasure, both in and out of the sack.

He didn't think so. He didn't think _anyone_ had ever affected him this way.

There was just something about it – something about the detective and what he did to Shawn that made his world go topsy-turvy. Made it taste sweeter than nectar and hotter than hell. Made it feel so right, like a bombshell of love dropped down in the night to obliterate his unimportant and unsuspecting past. To raze his worries to the ground and give him something to last. Lassie's words wrapped around his libido, dousing it with gasoline and setting it ablaze, quickly turning his desire from flickering flame to wildfire. He stroked himself through his pants, barely pawing as he hummed in appreciation, cock throbbing for a touch that wasn't his though his would do just fine. Shawn's brain quieted, his ears picking up on the sounds of a body nearing its edge, and when Lassie pistoned forward, three times in quick succession, he swallowed on the fourth, just to be a bastard.

The cop's hips shot forward so hard Shawn thought he might be embedded in detective forever, his face pressed into the man's pubic bone as he struggled for air. Lassie pulled him off then, a "Jesus, Spencer…" slipping from his lips in a whisper, apology written all over his face.

Shawn gasped for air, Lassie's hands still in his hair, and he looked at the man with faked contrition as his eyes watered, knowing it was worth it just for the reaction.

"I'm good. Is good," he choked. He took a breath to be sure, pressing the heel of his palm into the crotch of his pants to distract himself, transmuting the pain into pleasure. "Lemme finish. Is good. Make it good for you, too."

Carlton raised an eyebrow, the man looking like he was questioning the intelligence of it in the split second it took his primal side to veto any objection he might have had. But veto it did, and he slid Shawn and his waiting mouth back against his body, burying himself balls-deep. When Shawn went to move his tongue again, Lassie stopped him, the request just as mind-numbingly amazing as the last had been.

"Just open up and swallow, okay?" Lassie said, sensual and sexy and slightly demanding, all of which Shawn suddenly loved and wanted to hear every day for the rest of his damn life. "Now I know you're doing it, I'll be prepared. Let me do the work, okay?"

It wasn't work.

It couldn't ever be work when he was doing what he loved.

Still, Shawn did as asked, opening wide and swallowing hard every time the cop slid down his throat. He gripped Lassie's thigh to ground himself, his other hand rubbing against his clothed dick, no thought to the potential chafing he'd have to deal with come morning. How could there be when the sensation of being used so perfectly negated rational thought of _any_ kind?

Lassie guided himself forward slowly at first, but slow wasn't where they had left off at and it wasn't what Shawn wanted. The idea of the cop riding his face too hot to pass up, he slid the hand that was on the man's thigh to his ass at the next upward motion. When Lassie tried to pull away, he shoved him closer yet again, sealing his mouth around the cop's cock as best he could, determined to have his way.

Lassie looked at him and sighed, resigned to giving Shawn what he wanted, only this time without the usual argument about it.

"Fine, Spencer." His fingers ran down the side of Shawn's face, the touch tender and tentative, a hint of warning behind it. "Just remember you wanted this when you can't talk tomorrow."

He had barely a second to prepare himself when Lassie's hips snapped, the force more powerful than the psychic could have ever imagined. Then it happened again. And again, Lassie's hands keeping him still as he picked up speed, the momentum of his body bouncing off the mattress making Shawn shake. It was bliss. Nirvana-esque. The closest thing to earthbound heaven he had ever experienced, the knowledge that he was making Lassie lose control combined with the pressure of his hand stroking through his jeans causing him to teeter on the edge of his own precipice.

Shawn did his best to keep his tongue flat. He breathed through his nose, inhaling the scent of the man – the sweat and heat and _hunger_ of the man – as he railed into him. The cop's hips stuttered as he neared completion and the psychic hollowed his cheeks, savoring the flavor of the precome beading on the tip of Lassie's dick and gliding down his throat with every thrust.

"Shawn. Fuck. Fuck, Spencer. Christ... Shawn. Shawn. Fuck, Sha-"

The tempo of the movement was almost magical, the sound of Lassie trying to hold on almost musical, and as his name filled Carlton's mouth, Shawn found it finally washed the questions out - the sound of pleasure ringing in his ears louder and louder and louder and louder until there was nothing but the two of them there.

No future, no past.

No sorrow, no fear.

No troubles, no doubt.

Just love.

Just Lassie.

The cop's voice rose. Fell. Faded into nothingness, then exploded out of him as he screamed Shawn's name – echoed against the walls as his orgasm came, ripping through his body to leave him weak and tremor-wracked. A fine sheen of sweat coated his chest and his back and his arms and his legs and Shawn didn't care, swallowing greedily and sliding up to press them together, both gasping for air as he wrapped his arms around his lover and waited for him to come down from on high.

"Jesus, Shawn –" Lassie sighed.

"Nope, not him either."

Shawn laughed and knew by the look in Lassie's eyes that he would have been smacked had the man any strength. Instead, Lassie pushed his hands back through the strands of Shawn's hair, affectionately messing it up simply cause he knew he could. Shawn beamed at him, the act the closest thing to play he had ever seen from Carlton. He still had the problem of his own erection to contend with, but it wasn't nearly as important as the glow radiating off the man who'd just come so hard the neighbors had probably called the cops.

Hilarious as it would be, Shawn really hoped they hadn't. The last thing they needed was _Dobson_ at the door.

"I told you I could make you feel like I was holy, though, didn't I?" he said smugly, curling up next to Lassie and pressing a kiss to his brow.

Placated and pleasured and obviously at ease, Lassie responded with a laugh of his own, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight as his fingers crawled down the soft slope of the psychic's stomach to rest on Shawn's bulge with a squeeze.

"I'm not giving your ego that boost, Spencer," he said, teasing with both action and words as he shifted in place, propping himself on an elbow to look down at the brat beside him. "Your head might explode if I do."

The jab was delivered into the flesh of Shawn's neck, Lassie dragging him down and slithering over him as he spoke, the man sucking a clear sign of possession into his skin. Shawn felt it not just there but _everywhere_ , and he sobbed when the man's teeth sank into his throat without warning, the scrape of incisors sending electricity sparking through his veins. A strangled sound broke free and the detective's tongue slid out to soothe the sore spot on his jugular, leaving the psychic shuddering in a haze, only able to _feel,_ Shawn's hands wrapping around sweat-dampened shoulders, desperate to prove to himself everything about this night had been real. He clawed into Carlton's back, clutching him near and holding on for what felt like dear life as Lassie licked long swaths, the little nips interspersed with open-mouthed kisses spinning Shawn's head, all the blood left in it flowing directly to his dick.

"That's – that's not the one you should worry about exploding right now."

"It's not?" Lassie asked sweetly, turning his false innocence on Shawn like Shawn had on him, popping the psychic's fly open to release him from his prison. His fingers fluttered down his shaft and wrapped around him in a loose circle – not to pleasure but to fluster, the dry friction on Shawn's oversensitive skin almost excruciating but still driving him wild.

The devil.

Lassie was the goddamn motherfucking insert long line of expletives here devil.

"Is this the one I should worry about?"

Canting his hips forward as he tried to form a better connection, Shawn keened in disbelief, failing when Lassie pulled away from his efforts. He rested back on the bed, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he tried to control himself, his breath heavy and eyes narrowed as Lassie's thumb glided up the underside and pressed into the space just below his cock-head, rubbing at the groove.

"Lassssssssssie..."

Shawn wasn't normally one to whine, not in general and definitely not in bed, but the cop brought it out in him, his need obvious and incessant. If whining gave him what he wanted, Shawn would do it. Hell, he'd do twice as much for Lassie's hand on his cock than he'd do for a Klondike bar, and _nobody_ wanted to know what he'd get up to for one of those.

"Lassie… pleaaaaaaaaaase? Please please please please please please _please_?"

With a wry smile, the man brought his fingers up to Shawn's spit-slicked and swollen lips, tracing the lower one briefly before he leaned in with another task, a hard humor in his eyes as he made his demand.

"Lick."

Lassie's eyes pierced the psychic like stilettos in the dark and he found himself obeying, no noise in the room but the beat of his heart and the sound of his blood as it rushed from brain to dick, Shawn opening his mouth wide to acquiesce quick. His tongue snaked around Lassie's index first, then his middle, lapping at the ring finger, followed by the palm, performing his task with a single-minded purpose.

"Enough," Lassie said.

Shawn's jaw snapped shut and with hand back on his cock, Carlton ordered him to move, voice sounding like whisky soaked gravel.

"Buck."

Lassiter stroked down as Shawn's hips tilted up, and though he would have done so gleefully, Shawn was glad he didn't have to make his own waves to get some motion in his ocean. He didn't know if Lassie had done this before or if he was just that good at jacking himself off, but the sensation was exactly what he needed, soft grunts tumbling from his mouth as Lassie manipulated him artfully, like he was Van Gogh and Shawn his starry masterpiece.

It was quick and dirty.

Hard and fast.

It was heaven.

Better than heaven – the feel of Lassie's hand so firmly wrapped around him everything he'd never known he'd always wanted.

He came in hot heavy spurts after just a few strokes more, the rub and tug too much to bear, semen soaking his shirt and Lassie's hand as he blissfully came undone. Trying to breathe, Shawn could only heave, the air knocked out of him by the intensity of his orgasm and the slow, languid smile Lassie shot his way. Chagrined, he smiled back, finding himself nearly shocked out of his socks when Lassie raised his come-drenched fingers to his face, tongue darting out to take a tentative taste of what Shawn had left behind. Then a less tentative taste, his hazel eyes widening, and a soft " _oh"_ slipping from his lips as he watched Lassie lick himself clean, turning into a memory from his spank bank he planned to visit often.

So _so_ very often.

"Kind of tastes like pineapple."

A grin burst from Shawn's face as the psychic laughed his ever-loving ass off, Lassie's response unexpected and also maybe the best thing Shawn had ever heard.

"Are y – are you really surprised, Lassie?" he chuckled, his hand falling to the soft swell of his belly and the mess he had made. He wrinkled his nose as his fingers met the wet spot and Lassie laughed back at him, helping him sit up so he could pull his shirt off.

"I shouldn't be, should I?" he asked, eyeing Shawn's freshly bared chest, saliva dampened fingers reaching out to caress the long thin scar scored in between Shawn's pecs.

Shawn stiffened a little at the inquisitive touch, but he let Lassie continue, keeping his answer as light as he could. His scar was a touchy topic for him, a thing that made him feel more vulnerable than his dick flapping in the breeze; something he let people touch even less than his magnificent hair. But this was Lassie and Shawn had decided somewhere in the midst of getting his face fucked – somewhere around the time his world broke open, his hands on Lassie's wrists as his body begged to be taken – that he wasn't going to hold anything back anymore.

Nothing but that one thing, which he knew would come out in due time.

"Not if you want me to think you're a good detective, no," he quipped, only the smallest amount of snark in his remark as he replied.

Carlton pulled his eyes up to Shawn's face and watched the psychic nearly tip ass over teakettle as he struggled to pull himself from his jeans. He reached out to steady the man and Shawn smiled at him and continued, the feeling of Lassie's big hands on his shoulders more comforting than it should be.

"Been part of the Zipper Club since I was 22, Lass," he said with a shrug, nonchalant over what was once the biggest deal in his short life. "That's what almost dying does to you. Gives you a flashy new accessory you can never leave home without." He tugged at the pant-leg stuck on his ankle and leaned back against the man's pillow, giving up and wiggling his foot in Lassie's direction. "Can't take my swag off even if I tried. But you help me with this and I promise you can play with it some more."

"That's… that's why you live life so hard, isn't it?"

The question came out of nowhere and Shawn blinked, surprised that Lassie hadn't asked whether he'd meant his scar or his dick. His scar was, in fact, part of the reason he lived like he did – a reminder of a collapsed valve and a near death experience at an age where he should have been at the top of his game; a year out of commission in between his stints working constituent relations in El Paso and concessions in Atlanta as he ran from a past that caught up with him at the worst possible time. But he wasn't sure how to tell Lassie that, so he lowered his leg and let it swing over the edge of the bed as he considered instead.

Lassie just looked at him and waited with patience, finally leaning over and capturing Shawn's fallen foot after a few moments of silence.

Shawn decided to answer as the man pried the pants off his leg, a gentle swat to Lassie's exposed ass to punctuate.

"Damn straight it is, L _ass_ master."

Lassie glared back at him, half sprawled across Shawn's naked lap, the smack having caught him off guard as he balanced on one knee. He opened his mouth to protest but Shawn continued, skimming a hand across the knots in Lassie's spine and stopping at the small of his back to stroke his name into Carlton's skin with his fingertips.

"I live hard because I never know if tomorrow will come, Lassie."

He paused long enough to take a steadying breath, then continued.

"But you're gonna teach me to love even harder than I live and give me a reason to keep hoping it does," he insisted, pulling Lassiter from his lap into his embrace. The cop nodded, wrapping himself around Shawn with a kiss pressed to his forehead, and they settled into each other with what seemed like practiced ease, two mated puzzle pieces finally finding their home. "Cause I want us to have all sorts of tomorrows together."

Lassie glanced over at him, the look so full of affection Shawn thought his damaged heart had burst. His grip spouting sonnets of silent love, the cop laced their fingers back together again and Shawn sank into the touch, hoping to hold on to it and its giver for eternity. And if he was lucky, Lassie just might let him.

"Now – I dunno about you," he said, suddenly exhausted, the enormity of his orgasm and emotions leaving him wiped, "but I'm tired. Sleepy time?"

Lassie nodded at him, eyes shining with mirth at the juvenility of Shawn's words. "Yeah, I can sleep. Do you want to be the big spoon or the little one?"

He tugged the blankets up around them, grabbing his second pillow from where it had been knocked against the headboard and shoving it under his head. Shawn shifted to get comfortable and kicked his feet beneath the sheets, aiming for snuggly. His legs slid against Lassie's, their toes touching when Carlton tucked his legs up, and he responded, a little surprised.

"Really? I actually get a choice?"

"Not even a little bit," Lassie sighed, wrapping an arm around him and pulling Shawn in. The sound was contentment vocalized and as he reached over to run a hand across Shawn's face, gently feeling his features as if he was trying to memorize them by touch, Shawn sighed, feeling the same way. "Shut up and roll over, Spencer."

Shawn smiled. And strong arms holding him tight, Shawn did.

"G'night, Lassie. I love you, too."


End file.
